Which deals with the adventure of the enchanted head, with other folderol that has to be revealed.
DON ANTONIO Moreno was the name of don Quixote’s host, a rich and witty gentleman, and a lover of harmless diversions. When don Quixote was in his house, he began looking for ways to put his madness on display without harming him, because no practical joke that hurts anyone is good, nor are there any worthy pastimes that harm anyone. The first thing he did was to have his armor removed and put him on display in that tight chamois outfit of his—as we have described many times—on a balcony that overlooked one of the main streets of the city, visible to people and boys who looked at him as they would a monkey. Once again the liveried horsemen began to cavort about as if they were doing it especially for his benefit rather than to celebrate that festive day. And Sancho was extremely happy since it seemed to him that they had found—and he didn’t know how or why—another Camacho’s wedding, another house like don Diego de Miranda’s, and another castle like the duke’s.
Some of don Antonio’s friends ate lunch with him that day, all of them honoring and treating don Quixote as a knight errant, which made him act in a vain and pompous way, and he couldn’t contain his joy. Sancho’s drolleries were so many that the servants in the house, and everyone else who could hear him, hung on every word. While they were at the table, don Antonio said to Sancho: “We have heard, good Sancho, that you’re such a fan of creamed chicken and meat balls that if you have some left over, you keep them inside your shirt for the next day.”
“No, señor, that’s not true,” responded Sancho, “because I’m more of a clean person than a glutton, and my master don Quixote, here present, knows quite well that we can live off a handful of acorns or walnuts for a week. The truth is that «if they give me a heifer, I run for the halter». I mean, I eat what I’m given, and take things as they come. And whoever may have said that I’m an excessive eater and not a clean one, you can be sure he’s wrong. And I’d say they were lying if it weren’t for the respect I have for those sitting at this table.”
“Indeed,” said don Quixote, “Sancho’s moderation and cleanliness in eating can be recorded and engraved on plaques of bronze for the lasting memory for ages to come. It’s true that when he’s hungry he does seem a bit of a glutton since he eats quickly, chewing on both sides of his mouth. But his cleanliness is always as it should be; and while he was a governor he even learned to eat in a most fastidious way, eating grapes, and even seeds of a pomegranate, with a fork.”
“Do you mean,” said don Antonio, “that Sancho has been a governor?”
“Yes,” responded Sancho, “of an ínsula called Barataria. I governed it perfectly for ten days. During that time I lost tranquillity and I learned to scorn all the governments in the world. I left fleeing from it and I fell into a cave where I thought I would die, and from which I was saved by a miracle.”
Don Quixote related in detail the course of Sancho’s government that pleased the listeners greatly. Once the tablecloths were removed, don Antonio took don Quixote by the hand and led him to an out-of-the way room in which there was no furniture other than a table, seemingly made of jasper, the base of which was made of the same material, and on top of which there was a statue, done in the style of the Roman emperors, head and shoulders only—and it seemed to be made of bronze. Don Antonio walked with don Quixote around the table a number of times after which he said: “Now, señor don Quixote, that I’m confident no one is listening to us and the door is closed, I want to relate to your grace one of the rarest adventures, or better said, novelties, that can be imagined, provided that your grace will deposit it in the innermost rooms of secrecy.”
“I so swear,” responded don Quixote, “and I’ll even place a stone slab on top for greater security, because I want your grace to know, señor don Antonio”—for by then he knew his name—“that you’re speaking with someone who, although he has ears to hear, has no tongue with which to speak. So you can say whatever is in your heart to mine in complete safety, and can be sure that you’ve flung it into the abyss of silence.”
“On the faith of that promise,” responded don Antonio, “I want you to marvel at what you will see and hear, and give me some relief for the heartache that not being able to communicate my secrets has given me, for they’re not to be revealed to just anyone.”
Don Quixote was in suspense, wondering where all these precautions were leading. Don Antonio took his hand and guided it over the bronze head, over the whole table, and on the jasper base it stood on, and then said: “This head, señor don Quixote, was made by one of the greatest enchanters and sorcerers the world has ever had. I think he was Polish by birth and a disciple of the famous Escotillo, about whom so many marvels are told. He was here in my house, and for the price of a thousand escudos, made this head that has the properties and power to answer whatever you ask at its ear. This fellow noted the orbit of the heavenly bodies, made magic signs, observed the stars, looked at the points of the celestial sphere, and finally, made it with the perfection we’ll see tomorrow, because it doesn’t talk on Fridays. And because today is Friday, we have to wait until tomorrow. During this time you can be thinking about what you want to ask. By experience I know that he speaks the truth in whatever he says.”
Don Quixote marveled at the power and properties of the head, and almost didn’t believe don Antonio. But when he saw how little time he had to wait to find out, he decided not to say anything else except to thank him for telling him such a great secret. They left the room and don Antonio locked the door with a key and went into a room where the others were.
In the meantime Sancho had related many of the adventures and experiences that had happened to them. That afternoon they took don Quixote out for a ride, not in armor, but in street clothes, wearing a short-sleeved cape made of tawny cloth that could have made ice itself sweat. They had the servants entertain Sancho so that he wouldn’t leave the house. Don Quixote rode, not on Rocinante, but rather on a large mule with an even step, and elegantly decorated. They put the cape on his shoulders, and without him noticing it, they had attached onto it a parchment patch on which they had written in large letters: THIS IS DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. When they began their stroll the sign drew the eyes of all who came to see him and when they read THIS IS DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA, don Quixote marveled that everyone who looked at him called him by name and recognized him. He turned toward don Antonio, who was at his side, and said to him: “Knight errantry embraces such privileges that it makes the man who professes it known and famous all over the earth. Just look, your grace, señor don Antonio—even the boys of this city, who have never seen me before, recognize me.
“That’s true, senor don Quixote,” responded don Antonio, “for just as a fire cannot be concealed, virtue cannot fail to be recognized, and the kind of virtue that derives from the profession of arms shines and flourishes above all others.”
It happened, then, that as don Quixote was enjoying this acclaim, a Castilian read the sign on his back, raised his voice, and said: “Don Quixote can go to hell! How did you last so long without being killed by all the maulings you had? You’re crazy, and if you were just crazy alone and by yourself, it wouldn’t be so bad. But you have the capacity to make all those who deal with and accompany you crazy as well. If you doubt it, look at these people with you. Go home, you idiot, and take care of your estate, your wife, and children, and leave this nonsense that eats away at your brain and skims off your intelligence.”
“Brother,” said don Antonio, “move on and don’t give advice where it’s not asked for. Señor don Quixote de La Mancha is quite sane and we who accompany him are not fools. Virtue is to be honored wherever it’s to be found. Go away and bad luck to you, and don’t meddle where you’re not called.”
“By golly, your grace is right,” responded the Castilian, “because to advise this good fellow is to «kick against the pricks». But even so, I think it’s a pity that this good mind, which they say this fool has, should leak out through the channel of his knight-errantry. And the bad luck your grace mentioned be upon me and all my descendants, though I live longer than Methuselah, if I offer further advice to anybody, whether they ask me for it or not.”
The «advisor» went away, and the tour continued. But the crush of people was so great because the boys and the rest of the people were reading the sign, that don Antonio was forced to take it off, pretending he was removing something else.
When night fell, they went home, and there was a dancing party with ladies. Don Antonio’s wife, who was a woman of quality, merry, beautiful, and keen-witted, invited several lady friends to come and honor their guest and enjoy his unheard-of lunacies. Some of them came, and a splendid dinner was provided. The dancing party began a little before ten o’clock in the evening. Among the ladies there were two mischievous jokesters who, although they were very virtuous, were carefree, and this made for some pranks that would be pleasurable, but wouldn’t humiliate anyone. These two were so persistent in inviting don Quixote to dance that they thoroughly exhausted him, both in body and in soul. It was something to see, that figure of don Quixote, long, lanky, thin, and yellow, in his tight-fitting suit, clumsy, and above all, not light on his feet.
The young ladies flirted with him on the sly, and he—also on the sly—scorned them, but when he saw himself beleaguered with so much coquetry, he raised his voice and said: “Fugite, partes adversæ. Leave me alone, you evil thoughts! Stay away, señoras, with your lustful desires, for the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso doesn’t allow any desires other than her own to subdue me and hold me subject.”
And when he said this, he sat down in the middle of the room, thoroughly thrashed and pounded from having engaged in so much dancing. Don Antonio arranged for him to be carried off to bed, and the first one to lift him was Sancho, who said: “It was a bad idea, señor master, for you to have danced! Do you think that all brave men and knights errant are dancers? I say that if you think so, you’re mistaken. Many men would prefer to kill a giant than to cut a caper. Now, if you had had to do country dancing, I could have done it for you because I can do that kind of dancing really well. But I don’t know anything about ballroom steps.”
With these and other words, Sancho made everyone at the party laugh, and he accompanied his master to his bed, covering him so that he could sweat out his lack of gracefulness in dancing,
The next day don Antonio thought it was a good idea to try out the enchanted head. So, with don Quixote, Sancho, two other friends of his, and the two ladies who had exhausted don Quixote at the dance (for they had spent the night with don Antonio’s wife), he locked them in the room where the head was. He described for them the qualities of the head and made them pledge secrecy and told them that this was the first time he was going to put the head’s powers to the test. And except for two of don Antonio’s friends who were in on the secret of the enchantment, no one else knew about it. And if don Antonio hadn’t told them about it first, they, too, would have been as astonished as the rest of them, for any other reaction was impossible, such was its appearance and the skill with which it was made.
The first one to approach the ear of the head was don Antonio himself, who asked it in a low voice—but not so low that it wasn’t heard by everyone: “Tell me, head, by the power that you have, what am I thinking right now?”
And the head answered, without moving its lips, in a clear and distinct voice, in such a way that everyone could hear, this sentence: “I can’t tell thoughts.”
Everyone was aghast when they heard this, and more so when they realized that no one else was in the room or behind the table who could have made that response.
“How many of us are there here?” asked don Antonio for his second question, and he was responded: “There are you and your wife, together with two of your friends and two friends of your wife’s, and a famous knight named don Quixote de La Mancha, and a squire whose name is Sancho Panza.”
Here certainly was a new cause for wonder; here their hair stood on end out of pure awe. Don Antonio moved back from the head and said: “This is enough to prove to me that I was not cheated by the person who sold you to me, wise head, talking head, responding head, and miraculous head. Let someone else come and ask a question.”
And since women are usually eager to find out things, the first one who stepped up was one of the friends of don Antonio’s wife, and what she asked was: “Tell me, head, what can I do to be more beautiful?”
And she was answered: “Be very chaste.”
“That’s all I wanted to find out,” said the questioner.
Her friend went over and said: “I would like to know, head, if my husband really loves me or not.”
And it answered: “Reflect on the things he does for you and you’ll see.”
She drew away saying: “That answer didn’t need a question because, in truth, what a person does clearly shows his intentions.”
Then one of don Antonio’s friends approached and asked: “Who am I?”
And the answer was: “You know who you are.”
“I’m not asking that,” responded the gentleman, “but rather for you to tell me if you know me.”
“Yes, I know you,” he was answered, “you’re don Pedro Noriz.”
‘I don’t want to find out anything else because this makes me realize, head, that you know everything.”
And when he went away, the other friend stepped up and asked: “Tell me, head, what are the desires of my son and heir?”
“I’ve already said,” he was answered, “that I cannot tell thoughts. But even so I can tell you that your son wants to see you buried.”
“That,” said the gentleman, “is obvious, and I’ll ask nothing more.”
Don Antonio’s wife went over and said: “I don’t know what to ask you, head. I only would like to know if I’ll enjoy many years together with my good husband.”
And she was answered: “Yes, you will, because his health and his moderation in living promise many years of life, which many cut short because of abuse.”
Then don Quixote went over and said: “Tell me, you who give these answers, was it real or was it a dream what I say happened to me in the Cave of Montesinos? Will Sancho, my squire, give himself the required number of lashes? And will it release Dulcinea from her enchantment?”
“Insofar as the cave goes,” he was answered, “there’s much to say—there’s a bit of everything to it. Sancho’s lashes will proceed slowly. The disenchantment of Dulcinea will come to pass.”
“I don’t want to know anything else,” said don Quixote, “because as soon as I see Dulcinea disenchanted, I’ll see that all good fortune has come my way.”
The last one to ask a question was Sancho, and what he asked was: “By any chance, head, will I have another government? Will I be relieved of the toils of being a squire? Will I see my wife and children again?”
To which he was answered: ”You will govern in your house, and if you return to it, you’ll see your wife and children, and once you stop service, you will no longer be a squire.”
“By God,” said Sancho Panza, “I could have said that myself. The prophet Perogrullo couldn’t have told me more.”
“That’s enough,” said don Quixote. “What did you expect him to say? Isn’t it enough for the answers to correspond to the questions asked?”
“Yes, it is enough,” responded Sancho, “but I would have preferred that it say something more substantial and with more details.”
With this, the questions and answers came to an end, but not the wonder that remained with everyone, except the two friends of don Antonio, who were in the know.
Cide Hamete Benengeli wanted to divulge the way it worked now, so as not to keep the world in suspense any longer, in case it was thought that some sorcerer or some extraordinary mystery resided in that head, and so he says that don Antonio Moreno, imitating another head that he’d seen in Madrid, made by an engraver, had this one made in his house to amuse himself and dumbfound the ignorant. It was made in this way: the top of the table was of wood, painted and varnished like jasper, and the base that held it up was similarly made, with four eagle talons that stabilized the weight. The head, which was in the image of a Roman emperor and bronze in color, was completely hollow, as was the table top, on which the head fit so well that no sign of joining was noticeable.
The base was also hollow, and was located just below the bust, and this in turn communicated with the room immediately below the head. Through this hollowness in the base, and through the chest of that bust, there was a tube made of tin that couldn’t be seen by anyone. In the room just beneath awaited the person who was to give the answers, with his mouth right at the tube so that, like an ear trumpet, voices could travel up and down clearly, and in this way no one could figure out the trick. A nephew of don Antonio, a sharp and witty student, was the person giving answers; having first been told who was going to be with him in that room, it was easy to answer quickly and correctly to the first question. To the rest he answered by conjecture, and, since he was a sharp person, in a clever way.
And Cide Hamete goes on to say that this marvelous device lasted ten or twelve days. But since it was getting to be known throughout the city that don Antonio had an enchanted head in his house that answered anyone’s questions, and fearing that the news would get to the sentinels of our faith, don Antonio himself told the señores inquisitors about it, and they had him take it apart and not use it anymore so that the ignorant masses wouldn’t be duped. But in the opinion of don Quixote and Sancho Panza the head remained enchanted and able to answer questions, more to the satisfaction of don Quixote than of Sancho.
The knights of the city, in order to please don Antonio and entertain don Quixote (and give him a cause to reveal his follies), arranged for a tilting at the ring to take place six days hence, but it didn’t come to pass for the reason that will be stated later.
Don Quixote felt like strolling about the city on foot, but he feared that if he went on horseback, the boys would pursue him, and so he and Sancho, with two servants don Antonio sent with them, went out for a walk.
It happened that when they were walking down a street, don Quixote raised his eyes and saw written above a door, in very large letters, BOOKS PRINTED HERE, which pleased him quite a bit because until then he’d never seen a print shop and he wanted to see what one was like. He and his retinue went in, and he saw a sheet of pages being printed in one area, proofs being corrected in another, type being set over here and justified over there, and finally, all the machinery seen in large printing houses. Don Quixote went over to a typesetter and asked him what he was setting. He told him what it was, and he moved on. He went over to another one and asked what he was doing. The typesetter responded: “Señor, that gentleman over there,” and he pointed out a handsome but rather solemn fellow, “has translated a book from Italian into our Castilian language, and I’m setting the type for it.”
“What is the title of the book?” asked don Quixote.
To which the author replied: “Señor, the book in Italian is called Le Bagatelle.”
“And what does bagatelle mean in our Castilian language?” “Le bagatelle,” said the author, “is as if we said THE TOYS in Castilian, and although this book has a humble title, it has in it and embraces many good and substantial things.”
“I,” said don Quixote, “know a bit of Italian, and I take pride in being able to sing some stanzas of Ariosto. But tell me, your grace, señor mío—and I’m not saying this to test you but rather only for information—have you ever come across the word pignatta?”
“Yes, many times,” said the author.
“And how to you translate it into Castilian?” asked don Quixote.
“How else should I translate it?” replied the author, “except with the word COOKING-POT?”
“Well, I’ll be!” said don Quixote, “How advanced you are in the Italian language. And I’ll bet that where it says piace you say PLEASES; and where it says più, you say MORE, and the word su you render with ABOVE and giù with BELOW.”
“That’s what I say all right,” said the author, “because those are their correct translations.”
“I’ll dare to assert,” said don Quixote, “that your grace is not well known in the world, which is always averse to rewarding flowering talents or praiseworthy works. How many skills are lost here and about, how many talented persons are shoved into a corner, how many virtues despised! But withal it seems to me that translating from one language to another, unless it’s from the queens of the languages—Greek and Latin—is like seeing Flemish tapestries from behind. Although you can see the figures, threads confuse the images, and you can’t see with the clarity and colors of the front. And translating from easy languages doesn’t show any more ingenuity and good style than copying from one piece of paper to another. I don’t mean to infer from this that the practice of translating is not praiseworthy, because there are other worse and less useful things that a man can do. I don’t include two famous translators in this, one of them being doctor Cristóbal de Figueroa in his Pastor Fido, and the other, don Juan de Jáurigui, in his Aminta, where they make you doubt which is the translation and which is the original. But tell me your grace, this book, are you printing it at your own expense, or did you sell the rights to some bookseller?”
“At my own expense,” responded the author, “and I plan to earn a thousand ducados, at least, with this first printing, which is to be a run of two thousand copies, and will be sold for six reales apiece in the twinkling of an eye.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about all this,” responded don Quixote, “but it seems you haven’t taken into account the fraudulent accounting of the printers and the tricks they play. I assure you that when you find yourself saddled with two-thousand copies of your book, you’ll be so exhausted that it will frighten you, especially if the book is a bit perverse and not at all amusing.”
“So,” said the author, “your grace expects me to turn it over to a bookseller who will give me three maravedís in royalties and will think he’s doing me a favor in doing so? I don’t publish my books to become famous throughout the world, because I’m already well-known through my books. I’m looking for profit, because without it, being famous is not worth a cuatrín.”
“May God grant you good luck,” responded don Quixote.
He went on to the next typesetter, where he saw that they were correcting a proof of a book called The Light of the Soul, and when he saw it, he said: “Books like these, although there are many of them, are those that should be printed, because many sinners can profit from them, and an infinite number of lights are necessary for so many unilluminated people.”
He went on to the next station and saw that they, too, were correcting another book. He asked what the title was, and he was answered that it was called The Second Part of the Ingenious Hidalgo don Quixote de La Mancha, written by a certain fellow from Tordesillas.
“I’ve heard of this book,” said don Quixote, “and in truth and in my heart I thought it had been burned up and turned into ashes because of its impudence. But its Martinmas will come to it as it does to every pig. Fictional stories are good and delightful only insofar as they approach the truth, or the semblance of truth, and the true ones are better the truer they are.”
And saying this, with a bit of consternation, he left the print shop. And that same day don Antonio had him taken to the galleys at the beach, which pleased Sancho quite a bit, because he’d never seen them before in his life. Don Antonio had told the commodore of the galleys how on that afternoon he was going to take his guest there, the famous don Quixote de La Mancha, about whom the commodore and everyone in the city knew, and what happened there will be told in the next chapter.